


Fantasy island

by thegirl20



Category: Murder in Suburbia (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-24
Updated: 2013-01-24
Packaged: 2017-11-26 17:49:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirl20/pseuds/thegirl20
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ash and Scribbs discuss their fantasies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fantasy island

“I’m standing on a beach on a tropical island. The sand is almost white, the sea is turquoise. The only sound is the gentle lapping of waves on the shore. There isn’t a soul in sight and I’m wea-”  
  
“Wait a minute, where am I?”  
  
“Scribbs, you’ve pestered me for ages to tell you about this, and if you’re just going to interrupt every two seconds…”  
  
“No, I won’t, I promise…I just…I am in it at  _some_  point, aren’t I?”  
  
“You’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you? Now be quiet.”  
  
“Cuz when I asked about your favourite fantasy I  _did_  think that I’d be included somewhere in the procee-“  
  
“Scribbs!”  
  
“Right, I’ll be quiet.”  
  
“OK…where was I? Oh yes, there’s not a soul in sight. I’m wearing a white sundress which shows off the sun-kissed skin on my shoulders. I’m loo-“  
  
“Are you all freckly?”  
  
“No I’m  _not_  all freckly! I’m  _sun-kissed_.”  
  
“But you get freckles on your shoulders in the sun.”  
  
“Not on my island I don’t. I go a lovely golden-brown, tanned colour.”  
  
“Oh, so we’re in the realm of  _complete_  fantasy then.”  
  
“Right, you obviously don’t want to hear this.”  
  
“No, I do, I do! I’m sorry. I’ll be good.”  
  
“That’ll be a first.”  
  
“Please?”  
  
“Oh God, you’re  _actually_  batting your eyelashes at me.”  
  
“Is it working?”  
  
“Sadly, yes.”  
  
“Good. Go on. You’re in your white dress with your non-freckly shoulders…”  
  
“And I’m looking out to sea, shielding my eyes from the glare of the sun, when I catch sight of movement on the horizon. It’s someone swimming towards my island.”  
  
“This had better be me.”  
  
“The swimmer draws closer, their technique is flawless, long strokes with strong, tanned arms.”  
  
“I swear, Ash, if this isn’t me I’m going to be really pissed off.”  
  
“The swimmer nears the shore and starts to walk, it’s a woman with short blonde hair and an annoying habit of interrupting other people’s stories.”  
  
“I wonder who that could be?”  
  
“I wonder. So, she’s walking towards the shore…”  
  
“You can say ‘you’ now.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Well, you keep saying ‘I’, and now we’ve established that this swimmer woman is me, you can say ‘you’ instead of ‘she’, because you’re talking to me about me, so I’m ‘you’ in this story.”  
  
“I got lost somewhere around the middle of that sentence.”  
  
“You can say ‘You’re walking towards the shore’, it’ll be sexier when we start to do stuff.”  
  
“There’s no ‘stuff’ being done for a while yet.”  
  
“Eh? But we’re on a tropical island with the waves lapping and me all dripping wet…why won’t we be doing stuff in the next five seconds?”  
  
“Well, for one thing, we’re on a beach and therefore there is sand to contend with which is so very  _definitely_  not my idea of sexy. Oh, and another thing, this is  _my bloody fantasy_!”  
  
“Right, point taken, I’m shutting up now.”  
  
“Right. So you are walking towards the shore and as the water becomes shallower, it becomes clear that you’re not wearing any clothes.”  
  
“You perv.”  
  
“You reach the shore and we lock eyes, the water is glistening on your body, already starting to dry from the heat of the sun. We don’t speak at first, we just look at each other.”  
  
“Three guesses where your eyes are directed.”  
  
“Then you walk towards me. You tell me that your ship sank during the night and you’ve been swimming for hours in search of land. Then you saw the island and headed towards it. But when you saw me standing on the beach you feared it was an illusion, a beautiful mirage sent to tempt you and then disappear before you could touch it.”  
  
“This doesn’t sound like me at all, Ash. And if I fell off a boat, how come I’m naked?”  
  
“Your clothes have disintegrated in the salt water, or you were asleep in the nude, I don’t know, that’s not important. Anyway, I tell you that I am real and I take your hand to prove it. You gasp when our hands meet, a surge of electricity running through our bodies. I bring your hand up to my cheek, kissing your palm. You…”  
  
“Am I wearing suntan lotion?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Well, I’m standing around in the blazing sun with no clothes on; I think I should be wearing suntan lotion.”  
  
“Right, that’s it, I’m not telling you anymore.”  
  
“No, but…”  
  
“But nothing. You’ve had your chance and you wouldn’t shut up, so that’s it.”  
  
“Awww, but it was just getting good! I wanted to find out how I managed to get you out of that dress.”  
  
“Well, now you’ll never know, will you?”  
  
“D’you want to hear mine?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“It’s really good.”  
  
“Fine, but I get to interrupt all the way through.”  
  
“Good luck trying. Mine is…doing it on Sullivan’s desk.”  
  
“That’s it?”  
  
“Uh huh.”  
  
“On Sullivan’s desk?”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“I think that raises a number of issues regarding authority figures and father figures that we probably don’t want to get into.”  
  
“So…”  
  
“So…what?”  
  
“D’you fancy it?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Doing it on Sullivan’s desk?”  
  
“Please tell me that you’re joking.”  
  
“It’d be a lot cheaper than trying to do yours. With a far lower risk of developing skin cancer.”  
  
“And a far higher risk of getting the sack!”  
  
“He wouldn’t sack us! Anyway, we wouldn’t get caught.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“We could pretend the desk was a boat if that would help.”  
  
“Absolutely not.”  
  
“I could be a pirate come to ravish you.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“You could wear a white dress.”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
“I’d even say all that rubbish about the mirage.”  
  
“Go to sleep.”  
  
“Please?”  
  
“No. And no amount of eyelash batting is going to change my mind.”  
  
“Even with the door locked?”  
  
“Goodnight, Scribbs.”


End file.
